


No Stranger

by vampireisthenewblack



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternating POV (chapter by chapter), Anal Sex, Angst, Dubious Consent, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Magic Made Them Do It, PWP, Sibling Incest, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-05 22:56:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4198206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vampireisthenewblack/pseuds/vampireisthenewblack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean gets cursed by a witch, and Sam is the only one who can help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this (the first chapter) as a diversion in the midst of editing my SPN Big Bang, and then promptly forgot about it. I've got a couple days between BB edits right now, and was looking for something to do. Found this, so I thought I'd pull it out, polish it up as best I could, and post it so it doesn't get lost on my hard drive again. Unbeta'd. Typo and kiwiism corrections are welcome.
> 
> It's entirely self-indulgent porn :D Feels a bit like it could be the beginning of something longer, but I don't have time right now, so I'm going to mark this complete and walk away. If I come back later, it'll be here for me :)
> 
> [ETA: I wrote more! There is a job here, but don't expect too much in the way of plot. This is still just a sad excuse for tons of made-them-do-it porn :D The rest is complete, and I'll edit and post as I find the time, so subscribe if you want to keep track :D] 
> 
> Just in case it's an issue, the boys use derogatory terms for women, but IMO no worse than within canon.

Sam's lungs are burning when he gets back to the warehouse. Slumped on the floor where Sam left him, Dean is flushed and sweating and gasping for air. Sam crouches, puts his hands on Dean's shoulders so he can look into his eyes. "I couldn't catch her," he says. "She just disappeared."

Dean gives Sam a wry smile, lets out a ragged huff of laughter. "Witches, man. Hell of a sense of humor, that one."

She'd pressed something into Dean's hands, and then she'd run. Dean had gone down almost immediately. All he'd said was, "Hex bag, go", and Sam had taken off after her. "What is it, Dean?" Sam asks. "What'd she do to you?"

Dean looks up at him from beneath long eyelashes. His pupils are dilated, the black almost eclipsing the iris. "Feel like I'm dying, Sammy." He tugs at the neck of his t-shirt, pulls it away from his skin to slide his palm inside. He rubs over his collarbone as his eyes drop to Sam's hand on his shoulder. Then he shuts his eyes and shakes his head. "Oh, this isn't good."

"Tell me where it hurts," Sam says, eyes searching Dean's body for wounds, for blood, for some indication of what Dean might be feeling. He puts his hand on the side of Dean's neck, and he's warm, but not feverish. "Tell me what you need."

Dean's head moves, rubs his jaw over Sam's hand where it touches his skin. "I'm not hurt," he whispers. He laughs again, and then squirms, arching his back and moving his hips. Then his eyes snap open, and he tries to pull away. "You really shouldn't be here, little brother."

"I don't understand." Sam leans closer, holds Dean's face in his hands, forces him to make eye contact. "I'm not leaving you here, so just tell me what she did to you."

Dean's lips part, and his eyelashes flutter. "Sammy," he whines, leaning forward. He licks his lips. "I'm so fucking...that spell, whatever it is, it made me want— _need_ —" He lifts his eyes to the ceiling and huffs out a laugh. "I'm horny, Sam, like, I've never been this desperate, and you'd think I could get off, because I'm no stranger to jerking it, but I tried already and it _doesn't work_."

Sam's eyes flick down to Dean's waist, and sure enough, his jeans are open. He looks back up, takes in Dean's dilated pupils, his lips, plump, full of blood, slick with saliva, the way he leans into Sam.

Sam jerks back. "Oh."

Dean turns his head away, his mouth twisting into a grimace. "That's not all," he whispers.

"What."

"I know I can get off if someone's with me," Dean says. "And it's killing me to tell you this, Sammy, but I think it's gotta be a dude."

Sam's mind goes blank. "I'm sorry, what?"

Dean looks up. "You heard me." His palms are pressed to the floor, and his whole posture screams desperation. "I can feel it, I need something inside me, that's the only thing that's gonna help." He swallows hard, and his eyes roll back in his head. "It's getting worse, Sam, I feel like I'm losing my mind. I look at you and all I think is how good it'll feel to be under you. So you should leave, because pretty damn soon all I'm gonna be doing is begging you for it."

Sam rocks back onto his heels. "I'm not leaving you here, Dean. If you're losing it like you say you are..."

"Send someone else," Dean says, locking his jaw tight. "Give me a couple minutes and I figure I won't care who it is or how much you paid them, a few more and I won't even know."

Sam's breath rushes out of him. "You want me to get you a hooker?"

Dean tips his head to the side, stretching his neck, but he's breathing hard and his fingernails scratch at the dirty floor like he's just trying to hold on. "Whatever works. Like I said, pretty soon it's not going to matter who you send in here."

Sam tries to think, but there's too much to consider for him to be able to make any sense of it. There's no time to try to break the spell. Sam could go out, find a man willing to do...Dean...for the handful of bills in his wallet. This part of town it probably wouldn't take very long, but there's no way he's going to send a stranger in to take care of his brother, no way in hell. "I'm not getting you a hooker."

"Then you better find some rope, Sammy. Tie me up good." Dean leans forward, palms splayed out on dusty concrete, hangs his head. With every breath he lets out, he groans. "And you're gonna have to gag me. I don't wanna be responsible for the things that are gonna come out of my mouth." He looks up, wild eyed and desperate. "Do it _now_ , Sam."

"How do you know this won't kill you if you try to ride it out?"

Dean bares his teeth, shakes his head. "I gave you options, Sam. Either get someone in here to fuck me, restrain me, or knock me the hell out, because I can't hold on much longer."

"I'll do it," Sam says.

The words just fall out of his mouth. There's no thought process behind it, just an impression, a concept. He doesn't trust anyone more than himself to look after Dean, and he's not going to tie Dean up and watch him suffer through this, he's not going to risk Dean's mind, maybe even his life.

Dean's face falls. "No," he says. "No, Sammy."

Sam crawls across the floor toward him, reaches out. "You said it didn't matter who it was." He touches Dean's cheek, holds him there. "If anyone is going to do this, it should be me."

Dean shakes his head, lets out an anguished moan. "You're about the last person alive it should be."

"I don't trust anyone else to take care of you." Sam drags his thumb over Dean's lower lip, red and swollen from where he's been biting it. "Tell me, Dean. Do you want me to do it? I need to hear you say yes."

Dean's tongue slides out of his mouth, glides over his lower lip. "Yeah." He nods, drops his eyes in a kind of weak resignation, and when he speaks, the words are barely audible. "Sammy, _please_."

Sam nods, then he looks around. The warehouse is abandoned, covered in years worth of dust, not the kind of place anyone should be having sex in. But there's not much they can do about that now. "Okay. I don't want to hurt you. I don't suppose you have any—"

"Weapons bag." Dean's already working off his jeans, taking his boxers down with them.

Sam reaches for it, finds a half empty tube of lube in a side pocket. "I'm not even going to ask why there's lube in this bag, Dean."

Dean manages a shrug as he kicks off his jeans and boxers. "Never know when you're going to get a chance for a little alone time when you live in each other's pockets." He peels off his shirt, drops it into the dust. "Come on then, Sammy. Don't let me turn into a mindless slut." Dean crawls across the dusty floor, stark naked, completely unashamed, and there's something in his eyes that's a little feral. 

Sam's been aware of his own simmering arousal for a while, but it starts to develop a little urgency of its own. He's thought about this. It's a little hard not to when fans of Chuck's books shove it in their faces every couple of years, but it's always been with an element of the ridiculous, the belief that it would never ever happen in a million years, so he might as well laugh about it.

He's not laughing now.

Dean slides his hand up Sam's thigh. "Come on, Sammy," he says. "Show me what you got in there." Then he bites his lip, looks away. "You're gonna regret not gagging me."

It's hard to breathe, the air is thick and warm, and Sam can smell Dean's arousal. "No," he says, as his hands go to his belt. It comes free with a rattle and he yanks it out of the loop. "It's okay."

Dean's eyes drop, and his hands move to the fly of Sam's jeans. "Oh yeah," he moans, rubbing his hand over the length of Sam's denim-covered cock while he pushes against Sam's chest, forcing him to lean back so he can straddle his thighs. "I need it, Sammy, I need it now." His fingers work the button of Sam's jeans, fumble over the zipper.

Sam's pulse pounds in his ears as Dean's fingers graze over his dick, trapped behind the zipper of his jeans. The fact that this is Dean, that it's his brother touching him, that it's _another man_ touching him, and that Dean can hardly consent right now—it's all overwhelming. There's so much wrong, and yet, it feels so good, and Sam's got to wonder whether the spell that's affected Dean hasn't bled out somehow, to affect him, too.

He knocks Dean's hand away, opens his jeans. The backs of his knuckles graze the underside of Dean's dick when he pulls his own out, and he opens his hand, wraps his fingers around the both of them.

Dean gasps and looks down. His eyes widen when they fall on Sam's hand, wrapped around their cocks, and he groans. "Fuck, Sammy, you're huge." His hips move, grinding himself down onto Sam's thighs, and then he rises up on his knees. "Need it in me, Sammy."

Sam reaches for the lube, tries to make his mind cooperate. While he's messing around with the lube, getting his fingers slicked up, Dean's touching his cock, calloused fingers sending sparks right to his core. He pulls Dean to him, one arm around his waist, slick fingers sliding down into the crack of Dean's ass, gliding over his hole.

Dean jerks when Sam pushes, eyes and mouth flying open, a grunt punched out of his chest. "Give me your cock," he growls, grinding his own against Sam's stomach as he lifts himself, holding Sam's dick steady as he readies himself to sink down on it.

"I'm gonna hurt you," Sam says. "Stop, Dean, I need to—"

"Can't wait." Dean pushes down on the head of Sam's dick, but there's not enough slick. "Gotta fuck me, Sammy, gotta do it now."

Sam grabs Dean by the hips, forces him to be still. "Just let me..." He slides his hand over his own cock, spreading the slick from his fingers over himself, then he reaches for the lube again. He uses too much, because Dean won't wait, and he actually _wants_ to lay Dean out and take his time, make him beg for it as he stretches him open one finger at a time, but Dean's clawing at him now, letting out grunts and moans and whines as he rubs against Sam's stomach.

"Okay," Sam says, dipping his head to look into Dean's eyes. There's no reason there, Dean's iris almost completely black, his cheeks flushed, his mouth open as he takes quick, shallow breaths. "Slow," he says. "This is going to hurt."

Dean's fingers dig into the meat of Sam's shoulders like claws. Sam holds him with one arm wrapped around his waist, the muscles in his arm burning as he tries to hold Dean up, slow him down. Dean pushes, and Sam's not even sure if he's going to fit, if he's going to be able to get inside without hurting Dean, really hurting him.

Dean drops his head, face screwed up like he's in pain, then his body just gives, and Sam can't think past the pressure, the all consuming heat. He's inside Dean, inside his brother, and as he looks down and sees a single tear as it's squeezed out of the corner of Dean's eye, he cries out in anguish.

Dean doesn't stop, keeps sinking down, until his ass rests, heavy, on Sam's thighs. Only then does he still, drops his head onto Sam's shoulder, and each breath he exhales is a groan, deep and rough and broken.

"God," Sam says, wrapping his arms around Dean, holding him to his chest, sliding a hand up and down Dean's lower back. "God, Dean. Oh my god."

The only answer Dean gives him, are his lips, hot and damp, on his throat, still groaning as though he can't stop, and with each, his body tightens around Sam's dick. 

Sam slides his hand up the back of Dean's neck, cradles his head in his hand. "Are you okay?" he pants, and he holds tight to Dean as he gets his knees beneath him. He shifts inside his brother, thrusting just a little deeper.

Dean moans, tosses his head, and his eyes flutter open, fix on Sam's face. "S'good, Sammy." He moves his hips, grinds down on Sam's dick, and his eyes fall shut again. "So good." He does it again, the movement stronger this time. "So fucking good."

Sam gasps for air as he tries to stay in control. It's intense, too much, the heat, the tight hold Dean has on him, and the friction every time Dean shifts threatens to drive him crazy. "I must be hurting you, god, Dean. It's gotta hurt."

Dean hums, low and filthy, and his lips turn up in a tight smile. "Like a motherfucker, Sammy, you huge freak." He grunts as he pulls his feet underneath him, planting them on the floor behind Sam's hips, pushing up, grinding back down.

"Fuck," Sam gasps. "Fuck, Dean." Tension fuses his spine, sends shivers like tiny sparks spreading out over his skin. "Holy fucking shit, Dean. I'm gonna come."

Dean's eyes snap open, and Sam can see it there, the taunt, the teasing glint, but the words don't come. Instead, he lifts his chin, and he presses an opened mouthed kiss to Sam's lips.

It'll make for some interesting questions when this is all over, but Sam moans into Dean's mouth, slides his tongue in against Dean's. He gets a hand free, slides it between them, starts to fist Dean's cock.

Dean grunts into Sam's mouth with every roll of his hips, with every stroke of Sam's palm over his dick. He gets tighter inside, then breaks the kiss, stares at Sam wide-eyed and manic. "Do it, Sammy," he says. "Come in me, fill me up." He tosses his head back on a moan, and his hips stutter. His cock jerks in Sam's hand, and wet heat spills over Sam's fingers.

Sam's hips jerk, and he pushes forward, tipping Dean down onto his back without pulling out. He catches himself on his hands, Dean beneath him. Sam thrusts deep, stills for a moment to savor each spasm as Dean continues to tighten around him.

Dean seems to barely notice the change in position, face screwed up and looking like something halfway between pain and pleasure, crying out in one long, drawn out moan. Then he goes limp, his head falling to one side, his eyes closed. But he's tight, so tight around Sam's dick, and Sam pulls back, thrusts back inside, again and again, as he chases his own orgasm.

It hits him hard, fast, punching a grunt out of him. Fire spreads up Sam's spine, and he can't stay quiet when he comes, letting out an anguished roar as he jerks and fills Dean's ass. Everything goes slicker inside, and Sam stills deep inside Dean's body, comes until he feels like he's wrung completely dry.

His heart hammers in his chest, pounds in his ears, takes a long time to slow. Finally, he calms, his heart slows, and he can hear Dean's breath over his own pulse. He slides backward, lifting himself off Dean and away. His softening cock slips free of Dean's body, trails wetness across Dean's thigh, and Dean opens his eyes, looks up at him with an unreadable expression on his face.

Sam turns away, tucks his dick back into his jeans and zips up. He stares into space as the weight of what he's just done comes rushing back.

"Sam?"

Sam stares into the emptiness of the vast, abandoned warehouse. "Are you okay?"

Dean lets out a humorless laugh. "I didn't lose my mind," he says. "I'm a little bruised, and I'm not gonna be able to sit down for a week, but it's better than the alternative, so I'm gonna call it good." He pauses, and then, "Sammy, I—" 

"I'm sorry," Sam says. "Dean, I'm so—" 

"No." There's the sound of a zipper being drawn up, then Dean's hand comes down on Sam's shoulder, pulls him around. "You only did what I asked you to do, Sam. Rather it was you than some stranger, right?" 

Sam's face twists up as he fights all the emotions warring inside him. "I'm sorry I couldn't catch her. Stop it before it went that far."

Dean shrugs. He looks wrecked, exhausted. Broken. "We'll hunt her down. We'll get her."

Sam blinks. "What? Why? It's over. Why would you want to risk going after her, when she might hit us with something worse next time?" 

Dean stares up at him with a mixture of bemusement and disbelief. "What we did..." He swallows hard. "I want payback, Sammy." He drops his head. "Besides. What if it's not over? What it that was just... A reprieve, or whatever. What if it starts again."

Sam stoops down, picks up the discarded bottle of lube off the floor, stuffs it into Dean's bag and hauls the whole thing onto his shoulder. "Then we'll deal with it," he says. "And we'll get her." He takes Dean by the arm and leads him out of the warehouse.


	2. Chapter 2

The trail is going cold three days after Dean begged his brother to fuck him in an abandoned warehouse. All they've got on the witch is a description and her M.O., and their meager sources of information have all but dried up.

Dean wants his revenge, wants the bitch to get what she deserves, and he wants that fucking hex bag, but they've got nowhere to go from here. He fumes into the tumbler of whiskey in his hand and tries to make peace with it.

It hasn't happened again. All systems normal. He can clean the pipes without being desperate for a cock up his ass. There's a lingering awkwardness, the way he can almost feel Sam inside him whenever their eyes meet, but he can live with that. It'll fade, Dean figures. They've done worse things to each other and gotten past it, they'll get past this. 

Dean throws back the finger of whiskey in the bottom of the glass and pushes himself to his feet. He sways a little, and the rickety motel table lurches. The bottle tips over, and amber fluid spreads across the surface. Dean grabs for it, just as the door handle rattles and the door swings open. 

He looks up, the bottle in his hand, his fingers dripping, and finds Sam in the open doorway. There's a crease between his brows, and he looks worried and confused. "Bad table," Dean says in explanation, and puts the bottle back down. On second thoughts, he lifts it again and is about to pour more into his glass when Sam's hand covers his own and tugs it away.

"I think you've had enough." Sam stoops to find the cap on the floor and screws it back on. "That last lead? Nothing. She's not there, man. Hell, I don't know if she was ever there."

"Bitch," Dean slurs. He collapses on one of the beds and throws his arm over his eyes. "I fucking hate witches."

Sam huffs out a soft laugh. "Yeah." There's the sound of shoes scuffing the floor as he moves around the room. "We've done all we can, Dean. Maybe it's time to call it." He drags something out from under his bed, and the next sound is a zipper. "How are you doing, anyway? No signs it's coming back?"

Dean gives him a non-committal grunt, and rolls over onto his stomach. "I'm good."

Sam is ominously still and silent for a moment, then he pulls his bag off the floor and dumps it on the end of his bed. Ancient springs squeak in protest. The muffled thuds of folded cloth reach Dean's ears as Sam stuffs his clothes in. "We need to get out of here," Sam says, every word measured and careful. "We need to get back to work."

"You mean you need to take my mind off the way I _begged_ you to do me," Dean mumbles into the pillow. He pushes himself up on his elbows, turns his head to look over his shoulder. "Sam. I'm _fine_ , seriously."

Sam stares back at him, a look of horror on his face. "Dean—"

Dean rolls onto his back, keeps rolling until his feet are on the floor. "Sam. I said I'm good." He grabs the keys off the nightstand, and he's about to shove them into his pocket when Sam swoops in and hooks them right out of his hand.

"I'm driving," Sam says, lifting an eyebrow when Dean sways towards him when he tries to get them back.

* * *

Dean wakes with a sore neck and a boner that threatens to break the zipper of his jeans. He squirms and groans, and before he's fully cognizant, presses the heel of his hand into his crotch.

Sam glances away from the dark road stretching out in front of them. "Dean? Are you okay?"

Dean moans and shakes his head, clawing his fingers into his thigh because it's the only way he's going to stop himself from whipping it out and jerking it right here. "Where are we?"

"'Bout an hour from home."

"Damn." The word is low pitched, drawn out on a harsh breath. Dean's fingernails scritch audibly along the denim of his jeans, and he whimpers. "I'm sorry, man. We're gonna have to stop."

"It's okay." Sam's breathing hard, and Dean doesn't know why he's focusing on that, on Sam's face, the curve of his jaw as it works, when there's an empty ache inside that has to be filled _right fucking now_. "So it's happening again," Sam says, glancing quickly at Dean before he pulls off the road and onto a dirt track that'll take them into the woods. The brief glimpse Dean gets of his eyes, they seem bright with excitement, and Dean can't parse it, not now.

Sam stops the car in the middle of the track, and the engine doesn't finish rumbling to a stop before Sam pops the door and dives out into the night.

Seconds later, the passenger door flies open, and Sam hauls Dean up and out of the car. "How much time we got?" He grabs Dean's face in his hands, forces his head up, because Dean's eyes are stuck on the bare patch of skin at Sam's throat, the desire to lean in and lick almost irresistible.

"Some," Dean whispers, as he looks up from beneath his eyelashes and licks his lips. He aches, needs, but right now he'd be okay with a hand or a mouth on him. It's not going to last forever, though. Pretty soon he's going to climb Sam like a tree and try to impale himself. Pretty soon he's going to beg for it. "Shit, Sammy." He looks around, and they're surrounded by trees and darkness, the whole place smelling of decomposing leaves and dirt. "Find something to shove in my mouth, man. You gotta shut me up this time, please."

Sam shakes his head, slow and careful. "I don't care what you say."

Dean remembers begging for his brother's cock, the words echoing in his mind like they have been for the last few days. Dean lifts his chin, stares up into Sam's eyes like he's daring him to look away, to flinch. "Gonna do me down in the dirt, Sam? Like a _dog_?" He draws out the word, makes it as dirty and confrontational as he can. "Like I'm a bitch in heat? Like you just can't help yourself when I'm all bent over and whining for it?"

To Sam's credit, he doesn't blink. "No." He leads Dean around to the front of the car. "You're getting up close and personal with your Baby tonight. And it doesn't matter what comes out of your mouth, as long as it's yes, okay?"

Dean swallows hard, but can't shift the sudden lump in his throat. "It's always gonna be yes, Sammy." He bites hard at his lip to stop it quivering, and turns his eyes away so Sam can't see them shine in the moonlight, so he can't see the fear.

"Always?" Sam's fingers on his jaw force him to look, and there's confusion in the shape of Sam's brow.

"Until this is done, Sam." Dean wets his lips, remembers the taste of Sam in his mouth, the wet heat of Sam's tongue as it slid past his teeth. "Tonight. 'Til we're done tonight."

There's a hint of disappointment in the set of Sam's jaw, but the observation is gone before it can stick. Dean drags his gaze down and reaches out, slides his palms over the front of Sam's shirt. "Which we should totally get moving on, by the way." It's getting harder to breathe, and he _really_ wants to get out of his jeans. He glances back over his shoulder. "Up close with my best girl? Won't be the first time."

Sam drops his eyes on a soft laugh. "Always knew you two would get together eventually." When he lifts them, they're darker somehow, almost black in the darkness. He steps forward, almost predatory, and slides his hand into his pocket as he crowds Dean up against the hood of the car.

His hand comes out of his pocket with a tube of lube. He looks down at it, shrugs, like an apology. "I was ready. Just in case." With his eyes still downcast, he reaches for the front of Dean's jeans with the other hand. "I'm gonna do it properly this time, Dean." Dean's jeans open, and loosen, and Dean lets out a whimper of relief. Sam lowers his voice. "I'm gonna need you to turn around and get your jeans off for me."

There's uncertainty in Sam's voice, something like fear, but Dean's far enough gone that he turns and kicks off his jeans. With only a little shame tugging at the back of his mind, he spreads his feet apart and leans forward, presses his palms down on the smooth hood.

She's still warm, and as if he can see the future, a scene plays out in his head, one where he's pressed naked against the curved steel, and Sam is a solid weight on his back, and Dean's ass is full and stretched and it's exactly what he needs. "Sammy," he rasps. "Yeah, Sammy. Yes."

"Good, Dean." Sam's hand slides up Dean's back, underneath his shirt, over his bare skin. "That's good." There's a snap and a squelch, and then slick fingers slide over his hole.

Dean chokes back a moan and leans back into the touch, bending a little lower, spreading his thighs a little wider. "Sammy, please."

"Shh. You gotta hold on a little while for me, Dean." There's pressure as Sam's fingertip pushes against him, sliding, circling. "Can you do that?"

Dean nods, lets his head hang down. "Long as you quit wasting time back there."

Sam takes a step forward, and Dean can feel the denim of his jeans against the back of his bare thighs. Sam's breathing is audible, rough and quick, but he doesn't hesitate when he breaches Dean with a fingertip.

Dean gasps at the initial shock and weirdness of having something inside him again. It's different this time, he's not as far gone, not near mindless with lust and need like he was then. All he can remember from that moment before was a searing pain, but a sense of relief that kept him from stopping or pulling away. This time he _could_ pull away, if he wanted. This is good, a little bit at a time, and when he doesn't care anymore, hopefully he'll be able to walk the next day without wincing. Hiding that from Sam was a bitch.

He gets used to it quick, and he wants more. "Come on, Sammy."

"Okay." Sam's voice is low and wrecked already. The hand still laying flat on Dean's lower back clenches as Sam slowly pushes that finger in all the way, and Sam leans into him more.

Dean moans, long and just a little too high pitched for his liking, and the sound only fades when Sam's hand stills. Dean breathes hard. "I can feel every knuckle, Sammy," he rasps. "Do it again."

Sam lets out a choked off groan. "Jesus, Dean." He slides his finger out again, slow, and this time he works it so every single knuckle on the digit stretches Dean for just a little bit longer. "God." He leans into Dean more, and that's definitely his cock pressing hard and thick against Dean's left ass cheek.

"What?" Dean sucks air into his lungs in shallow gasps. "Not enough yes for you? Yes. Yesyesyes, Sam, come on."

"It's fine." Sam sounds like he's talking through his teeth. The finger slides in, out, torturously slow. Again and again, until Dean's panting and about to demand more, or faster, or something, when Sam presses another fingertip to his hole on the outstroke, and without missing a beat, slides two into Dean's ass.

"Holy fucking _god_." Dean's rim burns like it's on fire, but inside, it's so good. Sam twists on the outstroke, comes in different, grazes over a place inside that makes Dean cry out as perfect tingles spread out from the base of his cock, all the way to the tips of his fingers and the tips of his toes and the tips of his ears. He tries to ask for more, tries to beg Sam to never stop but all that comes rumbling up out of his throat is a guttural groan.

He hits the cooling hood of the car when Sam starts to pump his fingers. "Do that, Sammy," he gasps, with his cheek pressed to cold steel and the fuzzy shape of Sam towering above him in the corner of his eye, "do what you just did, and you won't need a hex to make me come looking for it."

Sam falters and chokes. "Fuck, Dean." The words come out broken and mangled, and he stops to clear his throat.

Dean closes his eyes. "Could've shut me up, but no." He grinds back on Sam's fingers and thrusts his cock against Baby's hood. "Get on with it, we don't have all night."

"Okay, okay." Sam lines up another finger and twists three in. It's different this time, Sam's not going as deep, but the further he gets in, the wider Dean's ass stretches open. It's kind of filthy to think about, but all it does is send a sick kind of thrill through Dean at the thought of his baby brother slowly working his way inside him.

Dean would like to believe that he'll regret this in the morning, but he won't. Not for the reasons he should, anyway. Truth is, these last few days there's been a disturbing absence of horror in regards to being fucked by his brother. All his discomfort has been worry, fear, that _Sam_ is disgusted by what they did, what they're doing. The things he said, the things he's saying. He'll never forget asking his brother to fuck him, for as long as he lives.

Sam's gotta do it because that's what they do. They save each other. Dean's given up on any chance that either of them would—or could—live on without the other. It's never going to happen. They'll check out together or not at all.

Sam's obliged to do this, but Dean _wants_ it. Wants it so bad he'll die if he doesn't get it. "Fuck me," he croaks, bitten down fingernails scraping at the hood with no thought for the paint job. Yeah, the shame is going to hit him when he comes out of this, but right now he needs more, more than the fingers of Sam's right hand, because even with the stretch burning his hole, inside he feels empty, open, gaping, and there's a searing pain licking at his insides that only cock will ease. "Now, Sammy, right _now_."

He sounds freaked, his voice rising in pitch, and Sam moves fast. He pulls his hand free, there's the sound of a zipper, then the blunt head of Sam's cock presses against Dean's hole. Before he can blink, there's a flash of pain, nothing like last time, and then he's full, Sam's dick going deep, bottoming out on the first thrust.

Dean lets out a sound that's halfway between a moan and a scream, like a wild animal or one of the monsters they've hunted, and it hangs in the air for long after his throat stops vibrating. Sweat slicks his cheek where it's stuck to the hood of the car, and he pulls it away, looks back at Sam over his shoulder.

Big mistake. Sam's mouth hangs open and he breathes hard. Shock, maybe. Or horror. Or disgust. His eyes are wide and staring, and his dick is twitching deep inside Dean's body. Dean closes his eyes tight. "Sorry, Sammy," he whispers, and he fights his body's betrayal, but he can't stop himself from clenching down on Sam's dick, like he can milk the come right out of him.

Sam whimpers. "No, Dean." He drops down over Dean's body, pinning him to the car, and they're joined from knee to shoulder. "Don't say you're sorry about this." Every single word is a rough growl hissed out from between clenched teeth. He rocks his hips, forcing a moan from Dean's throat. "You think this is hard for me?" He moves again, a solid thrust this time, and Dean slides up the hood. "This isn't hard."

Sam's hot breath washes over Dean's face as Sam starts to move, slow thrusts, deep inside Dean, never pulling out far as though he can't bear to leave. Dean opens his eyes, and Sam's blurry up this close, and his eyes hurt with the effort it takes to just catch the edge of Sam's face. Sam's arm slides around his chest and pulls him up, twists Dean while his cock is still buried deep inside. Then Sam's kissing him, kissing him like _he's_ the one out of control here, and all Dean can do is take it.

He's gotta not think, because if he does he'll go insane. He can't think about how strangely right it feels to be kissing Sam out here in the woods, Sam's cock right up inside him. He can't think about how he's breathing his brothers breath, how even their hearts seem to beat in time. And when they can't kiss anymore, and Dean turns back to the car, plants his palms and locks his elbows so Sam can pound into him hard and fast. Definitely can't think about the fact that his orgasm crashes down on him out of the blue and he comes in thick white ropes over the black paint without a single touch to his dick.

He can't allow himself to think when he's still crying out as aftershocks roll over him and Sam's fingers are digging into his hips while he grunts with every hard thrust, and Dean swears he can feel it go warm and slick inside when Sam comes.

He can't think when Sam pulls out of him and come drips down the inside of his thigh, and he can't think when Sam pulls him around and pulls him close and kisses him again.

* * *

It all crashes down on him, all those thoughts, when they're back on the road and he's behind the wheel this time, but they're coming too hard and too fast and he can't make sense of it all. He can't stop it enough to talk, and every time Sam asks him if he's okay and he turns to answer, all the words get stuck in his throat.

**Author's Note:**

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